


An Eagle Looking Down

by smallprotector



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Call me a god one more time!, Drawings, Gen, Grantaire thinks Enjolras is beautiful, Pining Grantaire, Protective Combeferre, Sketchbook, Ugly Enjolras, ambiguous era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8012899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallprotector/pseuds/smallprotector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is not beautiful. Grantaire disagrees, but Enjolras assumes he is mocking him.</p><p>A sequel to "Through the Eyes Of A Toad"</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eagle Looking Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a very kind comment on "Through THe Eyes Of A Toad". Thank you! Also thank you to my dear longdeadtemple who cheerleaded and beta-read

The drunkard kept coming back. Enjolras had not attempted another conversation with the boor- the first one had been more than enough; he did not need his looks mocked once again. But every meeting the Amis de l’ABC he sat in a corner. He had taken up the habit of bringing his sketchbook now, and Enjolras hoped he never had to see the content of it. He could imagine only caricatures of his own face or mockeries of his political beliefs. 

Though Enjolras was loath to approach him, the other members had no such compunctions. Especially Joly and Bossuet seemed to be quite friendly with this interloper, but even Courfeyrac had once or twice shared a bottle of wine with the man. Enjolras tried not to let it get to him. 

But when even Combeferre had had a sensible conversation with the man- about the proper illustration of scientific journals, of all things!- Enjolras decided to see if he could speak to the man. After all, perhaps he had only been too far into his cups last time and hadn’t been thinking clearly.

As he approached the table near the far corner of the Musain where the man sat, he noted with some wariness how the other’s eyes widened and sat up straight in his chair, scrambling to hide the most recent page in his sketchbook with a newspaper that was lying on the table. Enjolras made up his mind not to comment or ask about the drawings, but his private suspicions that they were jibes towards him was confirmed. 

“Does the great- I meant only- I mean- I’m Grantaire,” the man said. 

“And I am Enjolras. Do you wish to join our cause? The last time we spoke, you seemed not to take it too seriously.”

“Your cause! You mean suicide? You mean dooming all of you to an execution? Glorious Apollo, I may listen, and I may stay befriended with many of your worshippers who would gladly sacrifice their lives for you and believe the honeyed words from your beauteous lips to be prophecies, but I myself have never wished to join your following, even though your face might launch a thousand ships.”

He could not believe this man whom he had granted a second chance, whom his friends had approved of, would spew such cynicism while also insulting him by jokingly comparing him with a god. Heat rose to his cheeks and his jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists before he consciously relaxed them.

“Alright. If that is your opinion, you are entitled to hold it. And I cannot stop you from returning to this place. But if I hear you calling me Apollo again I will not be so lenient.”

Head held high and face schooled to show no visible emotion, Enjolras strode off with long forceful steps. When he got to his table, he knew there would be two asymmetrical blotches of red on his face, giving him a clownish look that only made his overall appearance worse. As he sat down, back squared resolutely in Grantaire’s direction, Combeferre came over and sat next to him.

“Enjolras, is something the matter? You looked quite upset after speaking with your resident cynic. I must admit, he can be trying at times,” Combeferre said, laying a gentle hand upon Enjolras’ arm.

“Trying! If he is trying, you are slightly well-read. That man is a menace. I have never felt more disrespected in my life!”

“Enjolras, what did he say?”

“He just… Combeferre, I thought myself above this by now but,” Enjolras looked around to see if anyone was listening before bringing his head closer to Combeferre’s and continuing in a low voice. “He keeps poking fun at my appearance. Even the first time we talked he could not leave it alone. And now he did it again.”

“What! This is unacceptable. I thought him to be somebody we could trust but any person who will mock you like this is not someone we can continue to act so civil towards. I must go speak with him at once.”

And with that, Combeferre stood up, gave Enjolras’ back a hearty clap before going off in Grantaire’s direction. Though Enjolras wanted to protest, he was relieved to know there was now someone else who shared his distaste for the man. He set to work writing his next speech.

Enjolras stayed, drafting his next speech surrounded by the comforting murmur of voices around him. But when he had finished revising it the first time, he looked around to see that all of his friends had left, and that the tavern seemed to be closing. So he rose, gathering his things. But as he turned to leave, he could not help but notice the scattered mess left in the corner where Grantaire had been sitting. In fact, from here he could even make out the corner of the sketchbook Grantaire had hidden so hastily earlier.  
Enjolras hesitated a second before going to see what the book held. After all, it was still possible that Grantaire could be a very inept spy. 

But when he moved the papers that had covered the sketches from his gaze before, he was stunned. There was his own face staring back at him. It was true to life, his eyes still intense and his cheekbones jutting out as he knew they did, but something about the drawing made him look- attractive? And the way his hair was depicted- it didn’t look like the rat’s nest, but like a lion’s mane, untamed still a marvel. 

After staring at the page for a few minutes, he had to see the others. He saw similar sketches again and again- sometimes full of passion, his mouth open as if he was in mid-declaration, sometimes looking off into the distance, and once with a faint smile on his face, watching something close by. He even saw a few of the other members of his group, though none of their portraits made them look any more or less good-looking than he knew they were. In fact, when he compared only these depictions he looked even better than any others.

Just as he was studying a page particularly closely, he heard a soft curse behind him. 

“Look I can explain, I swear I won’t be coming back Combeferre was very clear (and he is actually terrifying for such a peaceful man, really, who knows that much anatomy), and I never meant for you to see those, I was just in a hurry when I left-”

“This is how you see me?” Enjolras asked, interrupting Grantaire’s seemingly endless rambling.

“Well, yes. Of course, I cannot capture your beauty- I mean, it is hard to accurately represent anybody perfectly and your face seems to defy my pen but in essence- yes.”

“You were not mocking me when you called me Apollo.”

“Mocking! What! No! I may fear for all your lives, but I do not seek to mock you any more than I would want to upset out dearest Jehan. I have been told others do not see you the same way I do, but know that I think you are truly stunning.”

Enjolras did not say anything, but he thought over the interactions he had had with Grantaire. Though he still disapproved of his lack of passion and belief, he had to admit to himself that the way the man so obviously cared about his friends was charming. And, truth be told, he was not above feeling flattered by the way he had been drawn. 

Grantaire, however, seemed to interpret his silence differently and had started to frantically collect all the pages strewn about. 

“Look, I’m sorry, I’ll leave and I’ll not bother you again, really-”

“You can stay.”

“What?”

“I said, you can stay. You may have horrible political views and be far too disinterested in our future, but that is your right as a free citizen.”

“Um… Thank you?”

“Now, where are you going? I can walk with you,” Enjolras offered, his chest feeling strange.

“Just back to mine. But of course you can accompany me, if you wish.”

Enjolras faltered a second before offering Grantaire his hand. Grantaire stared at it for a second, before taking it with the hand not holding the sketchbook with papers stuck haphazardly in it. They walked out of the café together, Enjolras trying his best not to fidget with his free hand and ignoring the fluttering in his stomach.

“Now tell me, where did you learn to draw like that?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave a comment. Also, come find me at wanttodrawmothsfrommemory on tumblr. We can always chat :D


End file.
